


Touch

by laugh_a_latte



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Haphephobia, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Pre-Canon, Pre-Squip Jeremy Heere, Prompt Fic, sad boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 20:49:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19384417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laugh_a_latte/pseuds/laugh_a_latte
Summary: For as long as Jeremy's known him, Michael's never liked touching. Jeremy finally asks why.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So this is based off a prompt by Selene - I am so sorry I didn't follow it 100%, but this is where my brain went after reading it! If y'all like it I might continue it more (ofc if this gets longer, I can follow through with the original prompt, too!)
> 
> Original prompt (by Selene): ". . . Michael having random moments through his life where he tells Jeremy about horrible things he went through (birth parents, foster parents) before being adopted . . ."
> 
> (Also, in my brain this is pre-squip sometime, just fyi!)

Michael doesn’t like touching, and Jeremy never really understood why.

Because Jeremy likes hugs. He likes a hand on his back. He likes high fives and fist bumps and resting his head on someone’s shoulder.

Michael doesn’t.

It’s weird to Jeremy, but he’s not judging. Because Michael is his best friend. Jeremy could never judge him.

But Jeremy looks around and sees touch everywhere. Girls wrapping their arms around each other’s waists and braiding hair. Guys high fiving and slapping each other on the back. A lingering touch here or a hand on an arm or a brush of a shoulder, and no one else is ever affected quite like Michael by these touches.

And he looks at Michael in these moments, hands firmly in his pockets and arms pressed to his sides. Hood up and headphones on and eyes so guarded, not allowing anyone near him. Even Jeremy.

And Jeremy knows Michael doesn’t like touching, but sometimes he forgets, or gets excited, and does what any other human would do, and he touches Michael.

And Michael gets this panicked look in his eyes, which glaze over as soon as Jeremy gets a chance to look. And sometimes when it’s really bad, when Michael’s not having a great day, when he doesn't feel safe—he’ll have a panic attack. And Jeremy never knows what to do.

Because when Jeremy has a panic attack, he wants a hug. He craves someone’s touch. It’s the only thing that grounds him. But he still doesn’t know how to ground Michael.

Then there's today. They're in Michael's basement, not out in public, not in a crowd, so Michael doesn't freak when Jeremy accidentally grabs him. There's no panic attack, no total shut down.

But Jeremy still feels Michael’s forearm tense under his hand, and he pulls it away so violently, Jeremy is sure his fingernails left a scratch.

And, as always, Michael’s eyes panic, then glaze over, and those same words tumble from his mouth. “I'm sorry.”

And instead of saying 'It’s okay, dude' like he usually would, Jeremy pauses, and looks at Michael. Michael, his best friend since ever, who Jeremy still can't touch without express permission. And Jeremy still isn't completely sure why, and Jeremy wants to know why. He needs to. Because it's a little ridiculous that he can't touch his best friend of ten freaking years. So Jeremy pauses, and looks, and finally says, “Uh, why don’t you like touching?”

Michael is blinking, as if he’s trying to focus his eyes, but they don’t quite get there. After a few seconds of this, he shakes his head. “What?”

“Um, it’s just,” Jeremy turns on his bed to face Michael fully, placing his controller down before he gets too much sweat on it. “Is there, like, a, uh, reason you don’t like touching?”

Michael makes this suppressed noise in the back of his throat. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”

“No,” Yes, it kind of is, “No, not at all. Just, uh. Wondering.”

Michael looks at Jeremy, and there’s this weird thing there, and Jeremy suddenly regrets ever asking because he can tell Michael is about to tell him the truth.

“My first memory is getting hit across my head for crying. I used to get hit a lot," Michael says, not letting go of Jeremy's eyes. Jeremy's heart skips a beat and he feels like he's dying for a second. Then Michael breaks the eye contact, and looks down, and Jeremy can almost breathe again. "Or grabbed. Or dragged,” Michael crosses his arms, beginning to close in on himself. “Across the floor. My foster parents.”

Jeremy’s heart rate is spiking and he feels like he's on the edge, suddenly so aware of everything. He feels the humidity of the room and the faint pot smell and Michael's soft duvet and one of Michael’s moms is walking around upstairs, creaking the old floorboards. But it's mostly this stretch between them, taught and tight that captures Jeremy's attention, and Jeremy doesn’t know what to say next.

Michael's never mentioned foster parents. Not once.

Jeremy didn’t know.

“I, uh,” Michael clears his throat, but the sound is really strange. Michael brings his knees up to his chest, and wraps his crossed arms around them. “I should be in the next grade, but I had to repeat preschool because I couldn’t learn anything. Guess I was too distracted. I used to think I was too stupid, and maybe that's true, too. I don't know. My moms adopted me by the time I met you, but I still vividly remember . . .”

Michael's head drops back as he looks at the ceiling, and he smiles. He smiles and laughs. And Jeremy doesn't like it one bit.

“So I don’t like being touched, and I guess that's why, but I don't fucking get it. I want to be touched sometimes, Jeremy," Michael looks at Jeremy then, and Jeremy doesn't know what to do with his face. "I _want_ to be touched. But my brain won’t let me, and I can’t do it, Jere," Michael exhales another laugh and shakes his head. "I want it, but I can't do it," Michael looks away, then, just as something begins to fight that smile. "Isn't that just stupid?"

Jeremy watches him swallow before he brings his head back down to rest his cheek on his knees, but he does it facing the wall, so Jeremy can't see his face. He just sees the back of Michael's head, his mess of dark hair.

And Jeremy reaches forward.

No. He stops his hand, just shy of Michael's shoulder, and looks at it. He can’t comfort Michael like that. He can't comfort Michael at all. He can’t do anything or say anything.

There’s only an inch or so between his hand and Michael’s shoulder. It's only an inch that separates them, and it's only an inch that Jeremy can't close.

It's only an inch, but it feels like a universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (so my angsty brain thought of something while writing this, and I thought you guys might, uh, like(?) it: so if Jeremy _knows_ Michael hates touching or unexpected physical contact, _especially_ when he's anxious...you know how right before Michael in the Bathroom, he calls Michael a loser? Then he *purposefully* shoves into him with his shoulder, pushing him out of the way? Then, Michael has a panic attack in the bathroom? So like, imagine that but w/ this story being canon. Yeah, ouch, sorry.)


	2. Chapter 2

The TV screen blinks _Game Over_ , over and over. Jeremy sighs heavily, falling back onto Michael's bed.

"We're never gonna beat this level." Jeremy hears Michael hit buttons on his controller and the game music switches back to the start up menu 8-bit. Jeremy looks down from the ceiling to the TV screen in time to see Michael resetting the level.

"Let it go," Jeremy says.

Michael rubs his nose with the back of his hand, letting out this sound of pure frustration before he looks over to Jeremy. "We almost had it that time, man."

"We're never going to beat this level, Michael.”

Jeremy watches Michael's finger hover over the controller button to restart the level. His bloodshot eyes blink at the screen in a split second of hesitation, but then his shoulders slump and he lets the controller slide onto the floor. It lands with a dull thud. "We're never going to beat this level."

Jeremy feels the weight of Michael falling next to him on the bed. Michael sighs, long and loud.

Jeremy blinks at the ceiling as the fatigue of the night settles between them. 8-bit start menu music and soft raindrops pattering against the window pane replace silence. Jeremy glances up in time to watch two drops race down the dingy basement window.

And this is one of those moments. Michael is breathing steadily next to him, and Jeremy can almost feel the warmth pouring from his hoodie. And Jeremy wants to press his shoulder against that hoodie, to feel that warmth for himself, or maybe place a hand on his arm or _something_ because they've been trying to beat this stupid level for weeks and they almost had it tonight after hours of working at it and resisting the urge to plug in a cheat code, and it's nearly three in the morning and they're just dying to play another level already and the whole thing is so goddamn tiring and _frustrating_. And they're tired and frustrated _together._

But where Jeremy would normally touch Michael anyways and roll his eyes when Michael would inevitably pull away, there now lies this awful knowledge of why exactly he can't do that.

And Jeremy wants to look at Michael, but if he looks at him he thinks he might lose this 3 a.m. battle and touch him, so he keeps his eyes firmly locked on the ceiling and tries not to think about it.

But the tension is there, and he hopes to god Michael doesn't feel it.

But, of course, Michael does, because Michael is so sensitive to emotions and feelings and everything good about the world.

"Hey," Michael says. That look is back in Jeremy's eye and Michael low-key totally regrets telling Jeremy about his foster situation last week, because Jeremy keeps getting that look, like he's scared of breaking Michael, which is fucking _stupid._ Jeremy hasn't made to touch Michael once since that night, and Michael can tell he's dying to ask something about it, but Michael knows Jeremy would never because that's just Jeremy. But he wants things to return to how they were before, when Jeremy didn’t look scared in front of him like that.

Jeremy isn’t supposed to look scared in front of Michael. That’s just not right. “Is there something you wanna ask me? You have this, uh. Look.”

“No,” he says, much too quickly. “I mean. I don’t want to, uh. I don’t want to like, pry.”

Michael lets out a snort. “We’re best friends, Jere. You can totally pry.”

“I know.”

And that weird tension is back, and they're definitely far past the parameters of 'best friends' at this point, and Jeremy isn't saying anything. Michael can feel Jeremy’s brain whirring next to him. He loops his finger around his hoodie strings and waits for Jeremy to get the words.

“What are you okay with, with like. Touching?”

“Oh,” Michael’s hand stops moving around the string. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was definitely not that, and that is _definitely_ not prying, and Jeremy asked so slowly and deliberately that Michael knows he can't fuck it up, for Jeremy's sake. But Michael hasn't answered yet, and when Michael doesn't answer something within a reasonable amount of time, Jeremy starts to—

“Y-you don’t have to-”

“No, it’s fine,” Michael shakes his head. “Um,” Michael feels a little weird. It’s just that, he’s not used to talking about himself. He’s not supposed to. But he has to, now, so Jeremy doesn't do the Jeremy thing and shy away. And maybe, also, it's good for Jeremy to have this type of information. “I think I’m okay with touching when, like. Like." Wait. Michael freezes with his mouth halfway open, because yeah. Michael isn't even sure if Michael has this information. "Uh. Huh."

"Yeah?" Jeremy is saying it in that careful, deliberate way again, and Michael can tell Jeremy is trying. He's trying so hard right now to be a friend for Michael, to know his boundaries. To make things easier for him, and Michael is fucking it up. Shouldn't he know? Shouldn't he know what he's okay with?

"I don't know," Michael says before he can think of anything. His eyes slide over to Jeremy, and Jeremy is looking at him all confused, but Michael is confused, too, for the same reason. "I mean. I've never thought about it. I mean, I guess, uh . . ."

"Th-that's okay. If you don't know. Just. How are you feeling right now?"

And oh. _Oh._

"Jeremy, that's it!"

Jeremy just made him realize, and Jeremy didn't even realize—But that's _it_ —Michael doesn't know what he's okay with because it's changing _constantly—_

"What's it? Wait, what?" 

"It changes! All the time!" Jeremy is looking at him all confused-like still, so Michael continues. "I mean, look, sometimes you touch my arm or whatever and I'm cool, yeah? But sometimes it's too much and I can't, like. I can't deal? And it like reminds me of, when my foster dad, _god_ , when he would grab me and drag me places I didn't _want_ to go, where-where he'd— _No_ -" Michael has to shake his head to get rid of _that_ thought, as he keeps realizing. "No. Oh my god, and sometimes my moms can hug me if I'm upset, but sometimes I can't tell them about anything because the thought of someone touching me is too much and I _know_ a hug will happen if I talk about it so I just hide in my room. Like this morning, too! The hallways were crowded, but I had my music and my slushie and could handle it, but after lunch something changed, and I-I had to wait for the hallways to clear-" Michael stops talking at the look on Jeremy's face.

His eyes are wide, and Michael can't tell if Jeremy is scared or what, or if Michael is making this any better, or clearer, or freaking Jeremy out by ranting to the ceiling about this revelation. But then Jeremy is nodding and Michael thinks maybe he did it right. He didn't fuck it up.

“Can I- can I touch you right now?” Jeremy asks.

Michael looks right back, and sees that twinge of fear flicker there, and the high Michael was riding crashes because if Michael was normal and not so stupid about touching, or if he didn't tell Jeremy about why his brain is messed up about it in the first place, Jeremy wouldn't be looking at him like that. Hell, they wouldn't even be having this conversation and instead would be playing video games right now—But Jeremy asked about Michael's touching thing, and Michael doesn't think he's even capable of lying to Jeremy, and so now he's stuck with Jeremy looking at him all scared.

And Michael is thinking all of this because that stupid memory of his foster dad's punishments is trying to creep back into Michael's mind, but Michael _needs_ for it to be okay for Jeremy to touch him right now, so he's trying to distract himself. And Michael tries to plant it into his brain that Jeremy is going to touch him and that it’s okay, and so completely _not_ something to freak out over because he's fourteen now and not four, and it's Jeremy's face looking at him right now, and not _his._ Jeremy's eyes and Jeremy's touch and Jeremy, Jeremy, _Jeremy._ "Yeah."

Then, Jeremy’s eyes light up, like Michael just handed him something small and fragile and precious that can’t be broken, and Michael can’t stand it, so instead he watches Jeremy’s hand, which hovers in the air between them.

“J-just on your arm, here?” Michael doesn’t trust himself to say anything, so he just nods.

And Jeremy’s hand lands ever so lightly on his arm, just below his shoulder, separated by his hoodie. And Michael’s heart slows down.

Because Jeremy doesn’t touch like that. Jeremy touches like he speaks - in sporadic, stammering sentences, full of uncertainty and usually much too panicked to be gentle.

But this touch is gentle. It’s careful and complete. It’s sentence would be thought through to the last letter, with no stammering and completely certain. 

Michael isn't pulling away. He isn't tensing up. There's no glaze or panic to his eyes. Instead, they're full of something so purely wonderful and alive. Jeremy can't place what it is, exactly, but he can hardly believe it's real. And Jeremy relaxes, letting his hand rest easy on Michael's arm with gravity's weight, wishing for the world that the hoodie wasn't there.

Because on the other side of that hoodie is Michael, and this is the closest Jeremy has gotten to Michael that he can remember without him immediately flinching back or panicking, and it doesn't count if Michael's not cool with it. But Michael seems pretty cool with it right now, and Jeremy tries to focus on remembering this moment. Every little detail down to racing raindrops, so he can store it away in his memory forever.

And it is all so surreal that Jeremy hopes it's really happening and not just a dream. That they didn't actually fall asleep halfway through the last level. 

Michael is breathing steadily and Jeremy is basically touching him and it's fine. It’s actually fine. And Jeremy tries to keep his hand still so he doesn't do anything wrong. He can't fuck this up.

And Michael's eyes move up to meet Jeremy's. And Jeremy needs to take an extra moment for this. Michael's eyes, Jeremy needs to remember his eyes. He could forget every other detail and still be happy so long as he remembered his eyes. Because now, Jeremy's hand is on his arm and they're not glazed over. Jeremy is touching him, and they're not panicked. And that's it, Jeremy knows what it is—that pure and wonderful thing. Right now, for the first time Jeremy can think of, Jeremy is touching Michael, and his eyes are full of complete and total trust.

And Jeremy sees it there, a trust so pure and plain as day, and swears to himself in that moment that he will never do anything to betray it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww one more chapter of this fic to go (I think)! I'm also done with summer classes so I'll be posting more regularly again.  
> Thank you all so so much for all of the awesome comments/support on the last chapter (and your patience with my updating) they really make my day :') To be continued!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so the idea in this chapter was heavily inspired by a comment from Beth Harker on the first chapter! They mentioned touch that they share in canon and got me thinking. So, thank you! <3

Jeremy’s had some time to think since that one night with Michael.

He thinks it’s good that he has this information, now. About how Michael’s okayness with touch changes depending on how he’s feeling or what’s going on around him. And he thinks it’s good that he knows why, too, because now he can make sure Michael doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all anymore when they hang.

Jeremy never wants Michael to feel uncomfortable around him.

And it’s good how Jeremy knows to watch himself more, to make sure he doesn’t touch Michael before asking. To make sure Michael is okay.

But if all of this is good, then why does he feel so bad?

Jeremy is watching Michael at his desk. He’s staring blankly at his laptop screen.

Jeremy has his set-up spread out across the floor in front of where he’s leaning against Michael’s bed, and he’s also staring blankly at his laptop screen.

Homework seriously sucks, especially when your thoughts really want to go somewhere else.

And right now Jeremy’s thoughts keep running over to Michael. Because Jeremy is really tired and would very much like to drag Michael down on the floor with him, so Jeremy could lean against him and maybe rest his head on the shoulder of that warm hoodie of his.

But he can’t.

And his thoughts keep chasing that bad idea. And they keep going on about how much he wishes he could just touch Michael without this awful barrier. 

God, he wants to be able to just _touch_ him. 

Jeremy remembers moments when he would place a hand on Michael’s back, or lean against his shoulder, or something small like that, finding so much comfort in such easy touch. Rare moments, when Michael must have been feeling somewhat okay, and he wouldn’t pull away so quickly, and instead let Jeremy have it, for a little.

And those moments were _awesome._

But Jeremy regrets every single one. Because every single touch caused Michael’s brain to remember awful things, things he tells Jeremy about in this casually cynical way, things Jeremy didn’t know. And Jeremy didn’t know he was hurting Michael all those times, just by touching him.

And now that he knows, he can’t just casually touch Michael anymore. He needs to ask first.

But asking him sucks. Jeremy can just see how self-conscious it makes Michael.

It’s in the way his eyes drop, and in the way he closes up. In the way he stops smiling and rambling about whatever interesting Michael-topic he has that today, and instead lets Jeremy talk, only replying with short, direct sentences.

Jeremy knows asking first just makes Michael feel too different. And not the good kind of different, like Michael usually loves. It’s the bad kind. The ‘freak’ kind.

But Michael’s not a freak. Michael’s brain just registers those things like touch a little different than most people.

And Jeremy can see it, and he wishes Michael could, too.

But still. Jeremy can’t just touch Michael like he used to. And it _is_ good, because now he isn’t hurting Michael on accident anymore.

And it’s bad, because Jeremy just wants to touch his best friend sometimes, without making him feel freaky by asking.

Because, just like how Michael needs his own space, Jeremy needs to share his.

And it doesn’t have to be a lot. Just enough to calm the part of Jeremy that craves human contact. And with Michael being his literally only friend, Michael is the only source for that contact outside of Jeremy’s parents. And hugging parents is definitely Not Cool.

This whole dynamic just isn’t syncing up. And Michael and Jeremy _always_ sync up.

And Jeremy needs to find a way to fix it.

So, instead of focusing on his assignment, Jeremy is slumped against Michael’s bed on the floor, contemplating ways to do that.

And Michael definitely isn’t doing the assignment, either, and he also keeps glancing over at Jeremy. Jeremy keeps catching himself staring.

Because Jeremy might have an idea.

“Why are you staring at me all weird like that, man?” Jeremy watches Michael rub at the bridge of his nose, right beneath his glasses.

“Uh,” Jeremy blinks at Michael. “I-uh. I have an idea.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh,” Jeremy replies, “it’s gonna sound really stupid.”

Michael drops his hand and raises his eyebrows. “I like stupid ideas.” 

“No,” Jeremy says. Michael’s not getting it. “Like stupid. Like stupid-lame.”

And now Michael is smiling, intrigued. “Oh, do tell.”

“So like,” Jeremy spreads his arms out, in this grand gesture. “What if we had like, a handshake?”

Then, Michael’s face drops, in total disbelief, but before Jeremy even has a chance to panic about it, a smile breaks out in its place. And then he starts laughing. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“Uhh.”

“Like one of those cheesy secret handshakes? Like in movies?”

“Uh.” Jeremy shakes his head. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Yeah man, so stupid. So _not_ cool.” Michael snickers, and then his eyes narrow. “I love it.”

Jeremy’s heart rate spikes at those words. “Y-you do?”

“I mean, yeah, but.” And then, Michael’s eyes fall to a spot on the floor between them. “Uh,” and Jeremy doesn’t like how that bright smile is slowly dropping with it. “But, I don’t know.”

And then, that familiar stretch between them is back—taught and tight and tangible. And Jeremy just wants to take a pair of scissors and cut it. Maybe then, it’ll never come back.

“I know,” Jeremy says.

Michael doesn’t say anything, and Jeremy can just _feel_ Michael beating himself up somewhere in that stretch, and that was _not_ Jeremy’s intention, and he has to explain, as soon as possible, as best he can—“But, I was thinking, maybe, uh,” Jeremy is trying to catch Michael’s eye again, but he’s not budging. “It could be our thing, to like. Check on each other. And, you said that your, um—your comfort with touching, like, changes, right?” Jeremy hopes he’s not fucking this up, _God_. “And instead of me having to—Instead of me asking every time, we could just do the handshake, and then I know you’re okay. And-and you don’t have to do the handshake if you can’t, or if you’re not comfortable, or whatever, uh. And I’ll know, and it’ll be fine, and—God,” Jeremy hates how Michael isn’t look at him. “I’m not making any sense, I’m sorry. This was stupid.”

Michael doesn’t reply immediately, but slowly, his eyes find their way up to Jeremy’s. And, then, he says the best thing ever.

“Can we do that?”

And Jeremy feels his heart skip a beat because that wonderful thing is back in those eyes, and Jeremy thinks maybe he might’ve actually had a good idea.

“Do you think-uh. Will it help?”

Michael looks back down, but this time he has a thinking face on. Jeremy watches his hand move to his bracelets. He starts playing with one of them. “I think maybe. If we figured out a small one, without a lot of, um. Without a lot of touching.”

And Jeremy has to resist the urge to jump up and cheer, because Michael just agreed to Jeremy’s stupid idea. And it only sucks for a split second, that Michael said not a _lot_ of touching, because then Jeremy realizes that not-a-lot-of-touching is still _some_ touching, and he gets excited all over again, because something is so much more than nothing.

“Totally,” he says, stopping himself from scrambling off the floor because he really just wants to hug Michael right now. “Yeah, and-and if you ever don’t want to do it. That’s fine. And I’ll understand, then. How you’re, uh—Yeah. Right?”

“Right,” Michael replies, he drops his hand from his bracelet, and Jeremy’s racing heart settles. “Right, and I think maybe it’ll be fine, with my brain. Because it’ll be the same, routine thing everytime, yeah? Cuz, like, that’s how handshakes work!” And now Michael is looking at him, and he’s smiling, and Jeremy’s smiling, too. He can’t help himself.

“Yeah, handshakes totally work like that!”

“And it’ll be you,” Michael says, quicker, quieter. "I think I can do that. If it’s you.”

And Jeremy feels his heart swell, because it’s there, hidden in Michael’s eyes. Invisible, unless you know to look for it.

Michael is trusting him with this. This fragile piece of himself. Michael is trusting him not to break it. 

“And,” Michael smirks and those eyes start gleaming. “Secret handshakes are so lame, dude.”

And as Jeremy watches those eyes, he knows he can’t break it, and he can’t fuck it up.

“So lame.”

And then Michael smiles, full and real, and Jeremy knows he won’t. He's sure.

After all, he could never break Michael’s trust. Not in a million years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I maybe, maybe, might add a fourth chapter, but I think instead I'm going to incorporate this idea into my big WIP 'Lately' and continue it there? We shall see!  
> Thank you so much for reading <3 So sorry I didn't follow the prompt completely, I got carried away haha!  
> Comments are seriously appreciated - they are my lifeblood. You all rock! <3
> 
> (Hello this is me from the future adding a note! If you like this fic, I am incorporating it as canon in my big WIP, Lately! The themes and characterizations from this fic will definitely come into play in a major way in that fic, so if you enjoyed this, it will be continued, in a way, in Lately!)


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